


Sense of Strategy

by PaulaMcG



Series: If Not a Prank [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Hogwarts, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), POV Multiple, Sirius Black's Prank on Severus Snape, Swearing, Werewolf Remus Lupin, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaulaMcG/pseuds/PaulaMcG
Summary: New strategies are indispensable at February's full moon in the Marauders’ sixth year at Hogwarts.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: If Not a Prank [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071923
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Sense of Strategy

**Author's Note:**

> Remus, his teachers and fellow students will never help me make any money. This piece can stand on its own, but it also belongs to the same extensive story in my Rowling's-first-five-novels-compliant universe as the rest of my fanfiction.
> 
> Each of the characters functions as the viewpoint character, in the order they are listed, Peter twice, before and after Madam Pomfrey. However, since the sixth section is only dialogue, or rather monologue, without tags, the pov could be anyone else's as well as Albus's, just not Remus's.

Bloody Black. I hate… the slippery frozen grass. The sun is down, and it’s too cold. Are the first stars twinkling, or…? It’s the dark branches whipping against the sky.

This must be where Lupin’s gone. Last month when I saw him, he was heading this way with Pomfrey. I’ll check out… I’ve got the right to learn whatever those bloody Gryffindors know. It must be something with powerful magic, hidden behind the rare tree.

No, Black’s not trying to get me into a trap. When he’d let it slip, he looked like he somehow regretted. I’ll test it cautiously. If I can find a stick…

Here’s a long branch, left for the purpose, I guess. He said I’d see the knot on the tree-trunk easily in the moonlight. But I’m not waiting for the moonrise. The rise of the full moon. It must be that I get to fully see the secret – the treasure or the skill they’re working on with the help of this magical moon – only if I arrive in time. That’s it! Black must know that otherwise I just get caught.

Lumos! Voicelessly, and it worked at once – of course, an easy spell. 

All right, I’ve hit the knot, and the willow’s standing still. Here’s the gap between the roots. Not afraid, sliding down, but I hate soiling my robes. And what a lousy low tunnel. Just trudge on. In the light of my wand, it’s still irritatingly slow going, bent almost double, and with the earth floor so uneven.

What’s that ahead? Glowing white. Someone lying down, naked. A dead body! No, it’s twisting, trembling. Someone they’re torturing. No, it’s an animal. No. What creature can it be? Careful now… closer… At full moon, of course – a werewolf! Just transforming, is it? What’s glistening? Claws? Is there someone behind me, shouting? I know: I must back off soon.

There’s time for a last look. Still no snout, just a human face, now turning to me. Lupin!

“Turn back!” I barely manage to shout, almost breathless. “Snape! Come away!”

Familiar with the tunnel, I’ve been able to move a lot faster than him. I’m catching up with the lucky bastard just in time. No, he’s luckier than that, or cleverer. He’s come here well in time. Earlier than Sirius advised him to. In time to hear the half-human whimpers of inhuman pain, and I can hear them more clearly than ever – not from behind the wall.

As I’m still rushing towards him, he’s taking the first step backwards, and it’s a slow, controlled one. He’s still facing the end of the tunnel, the entrance to the Shack – and Remus. In the light of his Lumos, I catch glimpses of jerking movement. And now of my friend’s face losing its humanity! I can hardly control my steps.

Fuck! Fucking Sirius! I want to fight to fix what he’s done. Reaching Snape, who’s finally turning towards me, I grab his robes at the chest. “Come away!”

He’s not scared. Astonished, and even… gleeful? Just now suddenly furious. “You! And your idea of good fun!”

He jerks himself free and pushes me back. And I realise that I don’t need to get past him so as to try and protect him – or rather protect Remus from hurting him. Over his shoulder I can see the wolf still sprawled on the floor. Am I imagining the despair in its moaning?

If I could… If I were a dog like fucking Sirius, would I reveal my secret: change and go to calm the wolf, and not just save Snape and myself but Remus, too – save him from as much harm as possible? No use thinking: there’s no space for the stag I am.

I’m useless. All I can do and must do is run back through the tunnel. Snape will follow for sure. And I must run before him and restrain him when we get out.

Right, he’s just at my heels, panting in my ear. “Dumbledore… will be interested in hearing… what monster… Lupin is. What murderers… his pampered Gryffindor brats are! No, perhaps I’ll tell some Slytherins first.”

You idiot! Go and tell Dumbledore what he’s always known about Remus! Just as well that I’m not blurting that out. Struggling on with my back bent, I don’t even glance behind me at bloody Snivellus. I grit my teeth and force myself to think.

I won’t reveal anything to him, not even that I’ve known what Remus is. And I’ll urge or manipulate or force – or whatever… just make him come with me to Dumbledore, to no one else. 

Fucking Sirius! Why isn’t he coming, going to his Moony? He’d manage to pass us as a dog, or does he think it’s too big? Snape wouldn’t even realise it can be him. Perhaps he’s waiting by the Willow. I should have made him rush here first himself. Pads as a dog would’ve been faster, reached the Shack well before moonrise – perhaps even before Snape was in the tunnel. And that’s what he’s already done once, before telling me – just to do more harm by opening the door. Perhaps Remus heard him and couldn’t resist coming out to meet him, and was unable to crawl back when the convulsions got worse. Fuck…

Fuck, fuck. Having scrambled up, I point my wand at the gap just when in the white light, moonlight, I can see Snape’s ugly nose emerging from the tunnel. “You’re not going to tell what…”

The Willow hits my hand with a branch and I drop my wand. There’s no Pads here, no one to have stilled the tree.

Snape’s up with his wand ready. “You can’t stop me from doing it now or later. I think I’ll tell first my Head of House, then…”

A thin branch lashes him on the neck, coils around – then, lit red for a second, withdraws. The tree is suddenly still.

“I will take it from here, Mr Potter. You’ve done a good job protecting a fellow student or two.” Dumbledore nods to me with a smile, which – uncharacteristically – doesn’t reach his eyes, and waves his wand towards the gap, sealing it closed, I assume.

“I’ve done nothing.” I’m just stating a miserable fact.

“Coward, trying to deny it!” Snape shouts. “They’ve tried to murder me, his gang, with a full monster as their weapon.”

“You can calm down now, Mr Snape. The Whomping Willow is quite a beast, but I’ve now made it harmless.”

“No! Lupin…”

“Yes, he’ll be taken care of. We’ll talk in my office. No, in the hospital wing. Yes, two victims. Two stretchers.” Dumbledore’s conjuring them effortlessly while talking. “I apologise, but this will help you both calm down and relax.”

His wand flicks from Snape to me, and I’ve barely got time to see Snape start to float towards a stretcher before I’m seized by weightlessness and inability to control my body. Lying down, I can still turn my head, not talk, and I just stare at my fellow victim’s furious eyes, until a cloth spreads over my face at the moment when Dumbledore’s magic jerks the stretcher to move.

I can still think. And I realise that I’m a fake victim, standing for the real one, who – clawed, bitten, bleeding – will be brought in after the moonset, hidden by Disillusionment Charm.

“What is it?” I grab Sirius by the arm. I know he hates it – being touched – but he won’t listen and answer otherwise.

I’ve just entered the dormitory in time to hear James call him a fucking idiot and disappear under his cloak, and all but undo the advantage of his invisibility by pounding down the stairs. We were supposed to go any moment now all three together: to walk under the cloak to the Willow and hurry to join Moony. James would sneak to the edge of the forest and wait for us as the stag, and Pads and I would escort the wolf through the tunnel. 

Waiting in the common room, I was relieved to see Sirius come through the portrait hole and hurry straight up the stairs, as I’d already thought he’d gone to be with Remus during the transformation. Their closeness has been getting too much: cloying, unnatural. And anyway, Remus says he doesn’t want anyone watch him change.

Now, for once James is not happy with Sirius, and neither is Sirius with himself. His eyes are darting about; he looks trapped like he hasn’t since the time he still had to be in touch with his relatives.

He’s breathing hard. “Idiot!”

“What? Who?”

“Snivellus!” He wrenches his arm free and changes immediately.

The dog rushes towards the staircase, skids to a halt, barely avoids tumbling down, and turns back into a man – no, a desperate boy seriously out of balance. “We must go. Hurry! I should have stayed with Moony.”

Outside the portrait hole he glances back at me and rather mouths than whispers. “You – change now! You can run all the way unnoticed.”

But there’re people in the corridor, and I don’t want to return to where not only the rat himself but the change, too, can go unnoticed. Doing my best to keep up with him when he rushes on, along corridors, down staircases, I hope for an explanation. “What did Snivellus…?”

“Had to stop him,” he snaps, as if to himself. “From finding out.” Whenever on a flight of stairs he can afford some breath and there’s no one right next to us, he goes on in nonsensical fragments. “Make him go in … think it must be someone else. And I opened the door.”

He has the mind left to slow down in the entrance hall. We must walk out casually if we can’t do it unnoticed.

On the lawn he starts running again, heading straight towards the Willow. In his haste and agitation he’s slipping on patches of snow and ice. I guess he can hardly stop himself from transforming, forces himself to look around. “Is there anyone to see if we change here?”

The cold air hurts my throat. “Anyone from a window.” I don’t want to get caught as an illegal Animagus.

The darkness is falling, still not complete, with the first stars out; the moon… we’re catching up with it, yes; it’s not risen yet.

“I’m an idiot: it’s dark enough.” But he doesn’t change, because he doesn’t want to stop running. “We’ll change and rush straight in. No time to still the Willow!”

“Soon.” I’m choking on my words. “Behind these bushes.”

Here… we collide with somebody. 

The poor boy, the brave boy! Once again he’s said I wouldn’t need to escort him.

Of course I did. And here I am back in my comfortable rooms, at my window, in my idle thoughts, gazing over the darkening grounds, past the Willow and towards Hogsmeade, where he’s been left alone in the slow torment of his change.

After the change back – as torturous, perhaps, and I don’t think I want to know for sure – he always craves to see his hands. I’ve understood, learnt to give him an honest estimate on how soon he’ll be able to use them, particularly the left one for his drawing and painting. The sight of wounds doesn’t make him queasy, and I first misunderstood his interest: back in his first year I thought he revelled in his injuries, and that made me… detest him – ever more.

Thank God he hardly mauls his face. But such awful gashes across his arms… I haven’t always been able to close them all at once and to prevent all scarring. I work first on the hands, which are hardest to hide, and I’m proud of how smooth their skin can still be.

I’ve been rubbing my hands now. My skin’s chapped and ruddy. It’s this weather: all these cold months.

February still. It’s a long night.

I’ll apply the new cream I’ve concocted. But these hands need proper washing first. The cleaning charms are just for appearances, fleeting impressions – not enough for patients, or nurses. No other patients tonight, no hurry. I’ve had the chance to wait for the soil on my palms and under the fingernails to become visible again after the charm I performed while returning across the lawn.

Now it’s a pleasure, taking my time, to pour water from this jug to the basin, both decorated with poppies, presents from Dumbledore. No such pleasure to scramble between tree roots, soiling my clothes, too. The apron looks hideous, but I’m leaving it here to wear again in the morning, just for now exchanging it for a clean white one.

I’ll have a good night’s sleep before another saunter to the Shack and back after sunrise. It’s the least I can do.

And how can this be the kind way of treating anyone – the humane way: doing the least?

This is just what I’ve always done for him, over these six years. Resenting this duty, the secret, and the subhuman creature himself since before I met him, I must have felt he deserves being treated less than humanely. Repulsed by his pre-transformation agony, so unlike any patient’s pain, I must have made him feel, if possible, ever worse with my fearful, reluctant presence: he told me to leave him alone, and I started doing ever less.

Now… no cup of tea yet. I’m going to check that the hospital beds are all prepared… Yes, particularly this one, which has always been his.

I hated seeing the terrible self-inflicted wounds in the frail child’s body, and soon delayed my return after the moonset – to see that he was not in danger of bleeding to death. I decided to allow myself the routine of sleeping late.

The beast seems to know how not to bite and claw fatally deep, not to cut the main veins, so as to merely torture itself – desperately clinging to its cursed life, taking care not to end it all, since for its kind there can hardly be anything beyond. Biting, killing, or just injuring anyone else than itself will make it lose the rest of its humanity. 

Remus is gentle but too clever and bold. How could he always refrain from all violence, even though Dumbledore and his scholar friends try their best to prove it possible with this clandestine experiment? Who knows what he’s done before coming to school or over holidays, even though the parents claim to have kept him locked up.

Since about a year ago the beast has been oddly less vicious. Seeing him in the morning is far less repulsive: he’ll have only a few scratches.

He may not even need this bed and staying with me tomorrow. But just in case, everything’s in order. Just a glance around in the light of my wand was enough. Nox!

This night’s at its darkest as early as now. Stepping back into my gloomy chamber, I feel like… doing nothing but wait for the moonlight here on the windowsill.

I’ll still find him shaken by the change back, weak, barely conscious, and, perhaps having screamed and howled all night, he won’t even try to talk. And now that I’ve finally been willing to touch his skin with my hands, not just with my diagnostic and healing charms, and beyond the necessity, with something close to tenderness, I’ve observed how such a touch soothes him, slows his heart rate, both relaxes and envigorates him – more effectively than any purely human patient I’ve ever… 

What is that? Is it… by the Whomping Willow? Is it Lumos? Now it’s gone. In that light, did I see the branches still whipping, or were they still? What if… My God! If someone’s found the way to still the tree, and found the tunnel…

Perhaps I’m imagining things. But I must go and see. Just grab my cloak.

Now calm, but brisk walk. No reason to cause any alarm. Down another staircase.

It’s all quiet out here. The grounds seem deserted. If there was a student by the Willow, perhaps he got into the castle before I reached the entrance hall. Or… 

To prevent such a risk, I’ve suggested years ago that we forbid students from going out in these evenings. But Dumbledore insists on not drawing any attention to when it’s full moon, in order to make Remus’s absences less suspicious. Werewolves are rare in Scotland due to the climate, and locals don’t…

What? Behind me. “… Rush straight in … Willow!”

I’m just starting to turn when someone runs right against me – no, there are two of them. “Sedere!”

I’ve almost lost my balance, and without further thought I’ve resorted to the seating charm I use when agitated parents or other visitors disturb my patients’ peace.

“Sedere!” the witch repeats.

I fall to sit down next to the bush, and can no longer move anything but my head. Sirius must have been hit by the first spell, though I thought he was knocked down by the collision.

All right. At least I can catch my breath now. And we haven’t been caught doing anything forbidden. “We’re sorry,” I hurry to say. “T’was an accident.”

Whereas Sirius is shouting, “Let me go!”

“Lumos!” The witch’s wand, too, has not been lit until now, so she can blame herself as much as us.

She points it low, at us, and I see its glow first reflected on a white apron, then on a face in strict and worried frown. Pomfrey. What’s she doing out this late, this close to moonrise?

“Mr Black, and Pettigrew!”

“Let us go!” Sirius yells.

I don’t understand why everyone thinks he’s such a bright guy. No wonder he got in trouble at home. No sense of strategy, diplomacy. 

“Madam Pomfrey, we didn’t mean to hit you. We were just… exercising. Racing each other, Sirius helping me train and get fit.”

“Have you been out over there before?” Pomfrey asks, flailing her arm towards the Willow.

“No. We just came out of the castle, ran straight here.”

“Straight towards the Whomping Willow! And I heard one of you mention it. There was someone at that dangerous tree a while ago: I saw the light of the wand for a moment. Do you know something about that?”

Sirius is jerking his head from side to side, looking more trapped than ever – of course, now truly in a trap.

What is this all about? The exigency, his desperation. Not only due to James getting angry, leaving without us. Not only due to his anger with Snape.

James would not light his wand at the Willow. What if… Snape has gone in!

“No,” I start.

Pomfrey lifts her eyes from me, gasps and stares up – and I turn my head to follow her gaze: to the castle towers, now bathed in moonlight.

Sirius groans. “Someone’s… gone too close… It’s my fault. It’s too late. No, not too late.” Now he’s pleading, “Let me go and help!” Pleading – Sirius! “And fix it!”

Pomfrey’s back fully focused on us – on him. “What are you saying? Are you…?”

“He’s serious.” I’m suddenly feeling sick. The only escape is imagining that it’s a joke. I feel like giggling at our ancient, trite one: Sirius is serious. “It’s serious! Please, Madam Pomfrey, let him go!” He must have tricked Snape to go in, and Remus will… the wolf will…

“No.” Pomfrey’s face is more severe than I’ve ever seen it, but her voice is shaking, when she continues, “Mr Black, you’ve clearly done something that demands an interrogation and a reprimand...”

Sirius yells again, interrupting her, “Let Peter go! He hasn’t done anything. He can do only good. You can still, you know. Peter, go!” Does he manage to control his voice, turn it into a whisper, or is it breaking? “He needs you.”

I don’t want to. If… What did he say before: he opened the door? If the wolf’s come to the tunnel, just smelled Snape… and James – he can’t be the stag in there. The wolf must have already… I can’t! I can’t close my eyes or I’ll see it.

“Go where? I can’t,” Pomfrey says, to my relief, turning towards the Willow again. “Hush!”

Is there some movement, some sound at the Willow?

Now a whirr over my head. Pomfrey’s lashed her wand towards the castle, having made a quick decision, acted promptly. “Emergency message,” she explains. “He’ll be over there… There he is.”

A fiery flash paints the Willow red and disappears. In the remaining white light I can see three figures. 

Now… only one marching towards us: Dumbledore, flanked by two stretchers. The three of us have remained quiet, waiting. I must look. There’s some hope it’s not as bad as what I’d see in my mind. Just two bodies covered with cloth.

Sirius has closed his eyes. He opens them, startled, when Dumbledore, having reached us and bent down, grabs him by the arm. I let myself be pulled to my feet, feeling Pomfrey’s magic undone, but I expect Sirius to fight or plead. He doesn’t.

“Thank you, Poppy! Let us all go to your rooms.”

“Mr Snape, why do you say he is one?

“You say you saw him. Are you sure? That it was both him – and… a wolf?

“I see. Thank you for telling me. Now, I’m telling you not to reveal this to anyone else. Ever. I’m not threatening you with what the severe consequences would be – to you, which might be what you’re most interested in – if you did reveal it. No. I do promise: when I know that you have not done it, you will have my complete trust. Always.

“You promise to keep the secret. You can give the promise to him, too – tomorrow, I hope.

“Mr Potter, how long have you and your two friends known that he is one?

“Hard to say? Certainly.

“Each of you figured it out separately, is that right? And gradually, finding it hard to believe, and unwilling to mention it to each other? He’s not told you – of course not. Well, now that you all share the secret, you can cooperate and help him protect it from others. I know you will. I understand that each of you three has wanted to remain his friend – admirable, extraordinary. You, too, Mr Pettigrew, I am proud of… The Sorting Hat has done well to place you in Gryffindor.

“However… Mr Black, did you want to expose his secret tonight? No? Or perhaps to test if he really was what you suspected? In theory, it is possible that you tried to protect your friend from some suspicions you thought Mr Snape had.

“In any case, you risked lives – perhaps more. You must never do this again. You must confess to him. And to no one else, ever. You must serve detention tomorrow morning. As a punishment for daring both him and Mr Snape to approach the dangerous tree, which ended up mauling him – whereas Mr Potter arrived in time to save them, so that Mr Snape was spared from all but a single lash.

“Finally, Mr Potter, your presence is indispensable at tomorrow’s breakfast in the Great Hall. You’ll be declared a hero.” 

It hurts, it hurts, and there’s nothing, no colour, no light, no touch to soothe me, not even the caress of slowly trickling blood. There is blood, I can smell it. My body’s all covered with blood. My human body’s back: my treasure regained and to rejoice in – no matter the painful echo of change, no matter the wounds, no matter if worse and bleeding more than since… or ever? But is the blood all mine, or…? And I know whose. My mind’s back – brimming with pain, but remembering. 

The ground’s cold, my body’s rigid against it. Now after its changes – the same…

… as it is at the beginning when still whole, only tormented under the skin, in convulsions – ever harsher, more frequent. In the same suffocating tunnel, which swallows my half-human whimpers.

Why am I transforming here, outside the Shack? I must have already lost it for a moment, but it’s back – for a while more: the human mind, unrelenting tonight, clinging to a hope, waiting. Yes, I remember: I’ve been restless, come downstairs to wait by the door, pushed it and found it open, for once. Have they already come? 

Sirius insisted on coming early, though I’ve said I don’t want anyone to watch the change, so ugly, awful. Has he – yes, I heard him, smelled him – come, opened the door and left again? 

I must… crawl back. I… can’t. 

Footfalls, now closer. They’ll see me like this: curled into a twitching ball, the change on my skin now. 

Sirius, don’t look at me! But I want you so much, and I try to strain my neck to see. It’s you coming to me, your face glowing in the light of your wand, framed by your black hair. No. No, it’s not. The widened eyes, the look of disgust, disbelief, and fear… How can it be? No!

There’s no escape, not for this boy, no! For me – in the loss of my mind. No! I must keep it – to stop the beast. 

But its claws now boring into my arms – they crave the human face, his. No! Mine. Stop! My mind, stay! But I’ve always lost it – how to keep it now?

It’s returned to inhuman pain, and to the knowledge: there’s another body here in the darkness. Dead, or… There’s no better alternative. 

I can’t move. Good: I won’t get to touch it, like I touched the rat once, the one I thought I’d killed. I didn’t hurt it, so… But no, this is a human. Was: a boy… Snape’s dead now, or… not human. Because of me, a monster.

I don’t want to see. I squeeze my eyes shut from the glow of Lumos. The familiar rhythm of Pomfrey’s footfalls, perhaps a bit more hesitant. And is she earlier, too, than usual? What do I care? I can’t help it: she’ll see what I’ve done.

She’ll see… No, she won’t see me. Where my hands used to be – where I was me, seeking to sketch images of life, seeking a human contact – there’s only pain, only something ripped to shreds.

What have I done? Whether I’ve killed him or turned him into a monster – I do care, just can’t tell which would be worse. But what it can possibly be in me that cares, I don’t know, when there’ll soon be nothing left. If I’ve ever been human enough, I’m no longer. This nonhuman will be sent away and locked away and chained up, and… executed, or rather – as a beast – disposed of.

Her scent of healing herbs reaches me through the stench of my guilt, but I try my best not to stir. Of course she won’t lay her fingers on what is left of my skin. A spell prods me – perhaps cautious, but… An agony unleashed! And beyond, relief. I’m dying now.

Disappointment and weary fear arise when I open my eyes to see the ceiling in the hospital wing. I dare not think what will happen now. And I can hardly believe that it has all been real. 

No, the boy’s face in the tunnel was nothing but a product of imagination. Perhaps I also was inside the Shack all the time, and only mauled myself so, and had hallucinations, because for some reason my friends failed to come. Perhaps I’m not even hurt so badly. My limbs are resting comfortably.

No, that’s it. Pomfrey applies the extreme magic – lets me lose physical sensation – only when she needs to relieve me from exceptional pain.

I’m actually able to turn my head without feeling anything at all. I can see my arms folded, my hands resting on the blanket. They are all covered with bandages, and there’s blood still seeping through. That means the wounds are too numerous, so that closing them all at once with the most powerful healing charms would shake the balance of my body too forcibly. Or Pomfrey’s been busy tending to someone else. I can just hope she’s here now to tell me… 

There’s no feeling in my body to distract my mind from the question. “Have I…” My voice is almost completely gone. Though I’m not sure the first attempt was heard, my best chance must be to try to utter one more word. “Killed?”

“No, child.”

Her soft voice is so close to me, the answer so prompt. Please, I need to believe this means… Do I only hope, or do I truly hear it?

“Nobody got killed. Nobody got hurt except you.”

“All the blood?”

“Yours. Now sleep.”

“Sorry.” I say it to James.

I’ve hit him on the shoulder with the door when rushing into the hospital wing straight from my detention. I scan the room in haste… There he is, my Moony, and no longer unconscious. What? “Yes.” Of course I want to say that to Remus. “And you’re doing your best to stop me!”

His hands… now, when for a year I’ve been proud of how Pads can stop the wolf from gnawing his paws.

James is standing in front of me, raising his fists. “And you think you can fix anything by just saying sorry!”

My anger can match his. “It’s up to me what I say to him. Snivellus must give the promise directly to him, but won’t see him, and Wormy – he hates hospitals, so what are you doing here? With… Evans! Don’t you dare tell her!”

He shouts, “Do you think you can…?”

“Leave us alone!” My Moony and me.

“All right, tell him what you’ve done, and you’ll see if there’s anything left of any ‘us’.”

I’ve finally passed those two. Yes, they’ve left, James has banged the door behind him, and here’s the bed. I fall on my knees beside it, just next to where the arms have been laid immobile, folded on the blanket. 

Starting my confession, I must lift my brimming eyes from the bandages on his hands up to the gloomy shadows of the ceiling. “He… Snape sneered and said to me that he’d followed us before,” I manage to mutter.

I must get through this before I’m allowed any tears for him or for myself.

James has the right to cry. But is it all truly so bad that… he really did it besides shouting at me – while Evans was stroking his arms? What was she doing here, I don’t know – can’t care to know, but had to remind James that we’ve been forbidden to tell anyone what happened. Dumbledore says that in this way it’ll be all right. It must be. The wolf didn’t hurt anyone. Just himself – him.

I’ve glanced at his eyes. In his face, which glows white in the candlelight, they look too big and bright amber like an owl’s. Like when I, still fifteen, came close to him for the very first time right after his torture of change.

Now the two of us have been left alone, and like back then I can’t make myself touch him.

He’s needed it so much, and I’ve slowly learnt. I first learnt to change for him: to become a dog for him. But it didn’t hurt me, let alone take his hurting away. He’s gone on teaching me – also that, in turn, his touch can start to heal this stray.

Even now, I know, he’d like to caress me to take away my anguish. He just can’t move a finger.

I’ve lifted a hand – but I can see it tremble, and I press it against my forehead, so as to hide this, and not to see him. Only a glimpse of his poor arms again.

I don’t deserve to know, but Dumbledore’s told me that he’s so badly mauled that not all the wounds can be treated at the same time, and Pomfrey’s saving him from the pain by making him lose all feeling in his body. She can hope to prevent permanent scarring where she’s chosen to start with the most powerful magic. That’s not on the hands, as I’ve seen some blood still seeping through the bandages.

His voice is almost gone. “You can touch me.” He’s struggled to speak. And all in vain.

I can’t. “The spying bastard!” I spit it out, trying to tell myself I can blame Snivellus.

Now I’m able to almost look at him, and to give him the whole account. “He said he knew it was that night again. So I thought he’d already figured out what you… your secret. James says I didn’t think. I did, I do, I think too much. Is it my fault that some others are such bloody idiots?

“I thought,” I continue, and I’m forming my phrases more coherently now, am I not? This does make sense. “I thought I could make him think that we had nothing of that sort to hide. So I told him how to get into the tunnel and after you. He’d learn a lesson. The wolf would scare the shit out of him. I hurried to open the door to the tunnel, so he’d get to see the wolf down there or in the Shack.”

Now I can face him, let him see my face. “He wouldn’t believe I wanted to expose you, so he’d think the werewolf had to be someone else – someone you just came to see with Pomfrey, perhaps a relative. How was I supposed to guess he never thought of werewolves at all? He had some stupid ideas about some treasure of powerful magic we worked on with help from the influence of the moon. And why did he have to go there earlier than I said he should? So he actually recognised you when you were half…” 

I can’t help seeing all of his face more and more clearly. Not just his huge, incredulous eyes.

His beautiful face – deformed by gashes across his both cheeks. But I mustn’t stop now. This must be where magic will save him from scarring.

“I told James what happened, and he caught up with Snape. But, of course, he couldn’t become the stag in the tunnel, so the Animagus secret is safe. And your secret is safe, too. It’s my fault that Snape knows. But Dumbledore made him swear he won’t tell anyone.”

There. I draw a deep breath, hardly shuddering, and sigh out my relief. I’ve done so much better than ever when – slowly, reluctantly, indirectly – confessing to him the disgusting things that happened to me before Hogwarts.

He closes his eyes. The bright gate I learnt to approach with less and less fear. Now I’ve been left in my darkness.


End file.
